


Shining Through the Dark

by Yakkorat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Captivity, M/M, PWP, brief thought of off-screen non-con, non-con NOT between main pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yakkorat/pseuds/Yakkorat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell me,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s skin...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shining Through the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldshuck (Huzzah)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huzzah/gifts).



> There is reference to off-screen non-con, but it’s not the focus of the fic. See the ending notes for more information.
> 
> Thank you to [17pansies]() for all the encouragement pinch-hitting when my usual beta was busy, and to [orderlychaos](http://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos) for always being a consummate cheerleader. I love you both. [oldshuck](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Huzzah/pseuds/oldshuck), there aren't words enough to thank you for all you do for me, but here are a few. And lastly, to my darling Kit and Steve. You are the loves of my life, and everything I am is yours.

“Tell me,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s skin, even the softly spoken words echoing off the concrete walls of their cell. “Tell me what makes it possible to endure when they’re touching you.” Because they have to endure. They learned far too quickly that a poor performance in the brothel rooms by either of them brought punishment down on the other as surely as refusing to fight in the arena had. “Tell me what you think about.” 

“You,” Derek whispers back, tracing the bruise on Stiles’ jaw with a featherlight touch before threading his fingers into Stiles’ filthy hair. “Only you. You know that.”

Ducking down again, Stiles licks a path up the center of Derek’s chest. It’s sweat and dirt and blood, but beneath it is the pure and familiar taste of the forest, of the preserve: the essence of Derek at his core. Stiles moans when Derek’s back arches, Derek’s firm pectorals rising up to meet him. 

“You can have anything,” Stiles promises, and punctuates it with a nip that shakes a groan loose from Derek’s throat. “Tell me what you want.” 

Derek drags Stiles upward and kisses him desperately, too desperately, and it takes a second but then Stiles understands. What Derek wants is to take him home, to make love to him on a real bed like they both deserve, certain that no one is watching, and without the ever-present terror that the door will burst open, and someone will drag one of them away. “Make me forget,” Stiles pleads, because he needs to believe they’ll live long enough to have forever, and Derek’s arms pull him tighter, taking care to cradle Stiles’ bruised body as he rolls them. 

Stiles wastes no time tangling his fingers in the hair at Derek’s nape. He curves his neck, baring it for Derek, who whines softly and then breathes Stiles in deep. He nuzzles at the skin behind Stiles’ ear before biting gently over his offered throat. Stiles whimpers and thrusts his hips upward, seeking the returning heat above. Derek’s erection is hard and heavy against Stiles’ own and he tugs on the smooth planes of Derek’s body, pulling them flush against one another, reveling in the heat the werewolf metabolism provides, even on half rations. 

“Please,” Stiles manages, and Derek’s lips latch onto his shoulder, sucking lightly as his hand makes its way between their bodies. He is endlessly careful in avoiding the cuts and bruises that litter Stiles’ torso - Stiles won his last fight, but barely - and achingly tender as he wraps a hand around both of them. Stiles gasps at the pressure, _wanted, welcome, unlike so many other hands,_ squeezing his eyes shut, imagining Beacon Hills and the way Derek’s eyes would shine in the sunlight. It’s been a long time since they’ve seen the sun.

There’s no guarantee they’ll have all night, or even the next few minutes, and Derek sets a punishing rhythm, careening them both rapidly toward climax. “Tell me,” he growls when he’s close, and Stiles opens his eyes to see Derek’s flashing icy blue.

“You,” Stiles whispers hoarsely. “Always you! I’m always yours, Derek!”

Derek comes with a stuttered grunt, and Stiles follows him over the edge, his heart thundering in his chest. Derek is pressed so tightly to him that Stiles can feel it when their pulses synchronize as they start to slow, as Derek and Stiles try to catch their breaths, their eyes never leaving one another’s. These stolen moments are too precious. They can’t afford to miss a single one.

Derek lifts his hand to his lips and licks it clean, savoring the taste of the two of them together. Stiles knows the flavor will cling to Derek’s tongue, will make it marginally more bearable to stomach giving himself over to a brothel client if he focuses on their combined scents. There is little Stiles can do to spare him the scent of strangers all over his mate. 

Derek pulls Stiles in tight, using his own body heat to keep Stiles warm. He’s quiet, but Stiles knows him well enough by now to know where his head is. 

“We’ll get out,” Stiles says quietly, firmly, as if he believes it. He has to believe it. “We’ll get out, or Scott will come, or my dad will.” He can’t hold back the wince at the thought of his dad finding him in this place, fighting for his life or forced to his knees, and pulls Derek a little closer. He’s not shy about taking the comfort that he needs. With the future so uncertain, Derek isn’t either.

“I’ll find a way,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles knows it’s a vow. He huddles against Derek’s hot skin for the night, and dreads the coming of the dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small scene from a larger fic that may or may not ever be written in which Derek and Stiles are captured and kept underground, forced to fight for the entertainment of wealthy patrons and forced to service those patrons when they so desire. This fic, however, is about the two of them managing a few moments together for themselves. There is no non-con in this scene at all. And obviously, because it’s me, in my head canon they escape eventually, or are rescued. Because happy endings? Are what I live for.


End file.
